


only the children (know what they're looking for)

by therestisdetail



Category: Football RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/therestisdetail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I drew a picture of him, later, but I shall not show it to you for it is a sad demonstration of what will happen if you stop drawing when you are six, and certainly much less charming than its model. He wore a shirt that was too large and had soft dark eyes hiding beneath dark, indecisive hair; it did not seem to know if it was short or long, or what shape it wanted to be. He was very pale, very slight, had no shoes, and held a battered football beneath one arm with an air of pride.</p><p>  <span class="small">(Le Petit Prince redone feat. FC Barcelona)</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



_To Victor Valdes_

 I ask the indulgence of the children who read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a very good reason to do it; he is the best friend I have in the world. Also I have a second reason: although he is a grown-up, he understands many things, even books about children. And a third: he spends most of his time standing alone, protecting our goal, and I think that sometimes he is lonely. And so, it is nice to do little things like this, so he knows I am thinking of him. If these reasons are not enough, I understand. But remember, all grown-ups were once children, so instead I will dedicate this to the child from which this grown-up grew.

Few grown-ups remember that they were once a child. I remember, though, for him, and he remembers for me. And so I correct my dedication;

_To Victor Valdes,_

_when he was a little boy_


	2. part one

 

Once when I was six, my teacher asked me to draw a picture of my favourite thing. I thought about it very carefully, and after some work with my brand new set of pencils, I had made Drawing Number One. I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups. They were confused. "What are these wiggly lines?" they asked, with the best of intentions. "What does it mean? Is it a rope? A road?"

My drawing was not of a rope, or of a road, or lines. My drawing was of a ball. You could not see the ball, exactly, but to me it was clear it was there, I had shown the shape it made all through its travel, a perfect gentle curve. But since the grown-ups did not understand it, I drew in the ball on top in marker. This was so the grown ups could see clearly. They always need things explained. This was Drawing Number Two.

The grown-ups' response to this was a bit better. They smiled a lot, and nodded, and stopped buying me pencils and paper and started taking me to play football after school. I did not mind. It was tiresome to always be explaining things to grown ups, and they always understood when we scored goals.

So I forgot about my hidden ball, and my fingers forgot about drawing, until I had an accident in my car on the road to Fuentealbilla where my family lived and where I intended to visit them. Do not worry, it was not a very bad accident; at least not for me. Something in my engine was broken. The road was very long and very empty. My phone did not work; there was no signal. There are many things  that are said about Fuentealbilla, of which I will repeat only one because it is undeniably true - it is a town in the middle of nowhere. I was halfway through a dusty sand-filled nowhere, and all alone. As no help seemed likely, I set about attempting to fix the car myself.

It was hot and dirty work. I will admit freely that I do not know a lot about engines. Nevertheless, I tried. I screwed and unscrewed caps, I took parts out and put them back in, and cleaned anything I could reach. I suspect I made things worse. After an hour, I had seen no hint of any other car on the road, so you can imagine my surprise when I stopped to briefly break and drink in the shade and was interrupted by a small, odd voice. It said:

"Can you draw me some shoes?"

"What?"

"Some shoes. Please, draw me some."

I jumped to my feet. I blinked, very hard, then blinked again. The scene around me did not change. There, in front of me, stood the most extraordinary small person, looking at me with great seriousness. I drew a picture of him, later, but I shall not show it to you for it is a sad demonstration of what will happen if you stop drawing when you are six, and certainly much less charming than its model. He wore a shirt that was too large and had soft dark eyes hiding beneath dark, indecisive hair; it did not seem to know if it was short or long, or what shape it wanted to be. He was very pale, very slight, had no shoes, and held a battered football beneath one arm with an air of pride.

Now I stared at this strange sprite for some time, my eyes nearly bulging out of my head. You must remember, I was on a long stretch of empty road in the very middle of nowhere. Yet, this little boy did not seem uncertain, nor hungry nor thirsty nor afraid. There was nothing about him of a lost child. When I finally found my tongue, I asked:

"But- what are you doing here?"

He tucked some stray - or at least, more stray - hair behind one ear and repeated, slowly, "if you please, mister, draw me some shoes?"

When a mystery presents itself so brazenly, one dare not disobey. I reached into my pockets one by one until I had found a pen and several paper napkins that had survived my stop for lunch. But then I remembered that my studies had been towards history, arithmatic and grammar, and then gradually not even those as I rose through the junior divisions, and I told him (perhaps a little crossly) that I did not know how to draw, and in any case a drawing of shoes would do him little good.

"That does not matter," he said, and he spoke always with a slight mumble, so that one had to pay him very careful attention, although I was to discover that this was always worthwhile. "Draw me shoes."

I had never drawn shoes. So I drew for him my gentle, perfect curves that I had drawn so often, Drawing Number One. He smiled. "No, no, I do not need a ball. I have a ball. Please, mister, draw me shoes."

I made a drawing of some shoes, or something vaguely recognisable as such.

"No. Those shoes are far too big, and the laces do not fit. Draw another pair."

So I made another drawing.  I tried a little harder this time, and thought carefully about the shape of my own shoes, and the pattern on the side.

"They are very nice," he said impatiently, "but you are much larger than me, they still will not fit."

I made a drawing once more.

"Oh, but must it have animal print in colours like that?"

By this time my patience was exhausted, and I was starting to worry again about the engine of my car. So with a few strokes, I quickly drew the outline of a box. "Here," I said, "the shoes you want are inside."

"Oh," he said, then a light filled his face, and though his lips did not twitch very far they seemed to hold a much larger smile in the very slightness of their movement. "They are perfect. Thank you very much."

I was surprised. "Do they fit?" I asked.

"Of course. They are very small, but that is good, where I live everything is very small."

"Should we... try them out?"

He took the drawing and tucked it in his pocket, then nodded firmly. "Where I live is not so small that I do not know how to do that." And he kicked the ball to me, through the dust, and I could not call myself a true son of la masia if I did not return it immediately. Before long, my engine was forgotten, and I was relearning that lesson I had myself taught to others so many times through the youth ranks; that size need not matter.

And that is how I made the acquaintance of the little prince.

 

*

 

It took me a long time to find out where he came from. After we played, we rested, and drank and talked, but the little prince who asked so many questions never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. He asked me:

"What is this?"

"It is a car. it goes along the road, and takes me places. It is my car. And it dropped me here, in the middle of nowhere."

"Dropped?" He said excitedly. "Oh, that is funny!" I did not think it very funny, and frowned, so he hid his smile behind his hand.  I like my misfortunes to be taken seriously. "But mister, then you come from the sky too? Which is your planet?"

At that moment there was a slender crack in the mystery that surrounded his presence, and with no one around to find me ridiculous I demanded quickly; "Are you from another planet?"

But he did not reply, and laid his hand gently on the front left wheel. "I do not think this could lift easily from the ground. No, it is true, you must not be from very far away."

"I came from Barcelona," I said, for it seemed polite, although my mind was still filled with curiosity at this mention of other planets. I pondered on ways to discover more on this subject. "Where is it that you come from? This place, is it for there that you need the boots?"

After a moment of thoughtful silence, he spoke. "The good thing," he said, "about these boots you have given me, is that they are very bright, so I shall be able to find them even at night."

"Well, yes." I said, briefly perplexed. Then a thought occurred. "Perhaps I should give you a shirt as well? It could have your name on the back, and where you come from, that will go on the front."

"A shirt? With... names?" He seemed  bewildered by the offer. With a burst of enthusiasm, I leapt to my feet and dug through my luggage until I found what I was searching for, still so new to me, and precious.

"Here, you see." I said, and held it out. "Here is my name: Iniesta, Andres Iniesta, and here on the front the crest," I brushed it gently with my thumb, "and it represents my home, and that is what I play for."

"What a strange idea," he laughed. "Why must you wear your own name?"

"So that people know who you are." I answered, after some thought. "People see your name, and see what you do, and they remember you. So many people, all of them with so many things to do and think about, but if you do something worth remembering, well, then you are known."

The little prince said earnestly: "Where I live, that does not matter. Everything is so small. You are known."

Then he added, with perhaps a trace of sadness;

"You could not be forgotten."

 

*

 

And that is how I learned the first fact of importance, which is that the planet the little prince came from was barely larger than a house! This did not surprise me greatly. I know that there are many large planets, like Jupiter and Mars and and Venus and even Earth, but I also know that there are many hundreds of much smaller planets, some of which are so small they cannot even be seen with a telescope. And because they are small, it is sadly true that most find them unimportant, and upon finding them will merely write a number, not a name, for example 'asteroid 312'.

After many years, I have reason to believe the planet the little prince spoke of was known as "asteroid L-110",  and had only once been seen through a telescope, by an astronomer called Rexarch in 1902. Unfortunately, when he presented it to the International Astronomical Congress, his notes were so indecipherable and written on strange scraps of paper that no one took him seriously until they were rediscovered in the archives decades later.

Now, the only reason I include this information is on account of grown-ups and their ways. When you tell a grown-up you have a new friend, they will always ask these kinds of  questions. "How old is he? How many brothers does he have? Where does his father work?" They will never ask the important questions, they will never ask "What does his laugh sound like? When is his favourite moment to make a run at goal? Does he like to pick mushrooms?".

Just the same, you cannot say to them the proof the little prince existed is that he was charming, and laughed, and was as fast and tiny as a little flea, appearing everywhere the ball went. But if you said to them, "the planet he comes from is L-110", then they would no doubt be satisfied.

It is not their fault. One must be very patient with grown-ups. But as I look back at my notes in my leatherbound notebook, all the things I wrote down as the little prince told them to me, I think maybe I should have liked to start this story as a fairy tale. "Once upon a time, on a little planet, there was a little prince, and he was looking for some boots."

To people who truly understand life, that would ring much more true, don't you think?

This is important to me. I do not want this story to be read carelessly. It is ten years since my little friend left, and if I write all this down, if I put this all in print and on paper in full, it is because I do not want to forget him. To forget a friend is sad. (He knew that, and though I did not realise it at the time, he thought my explanation and shirt with my name on the back were of great importance. But I will say more of that later.) There a times when to think of him has made me very sad. In some details I may make mistakes - it was a long time ago. Other things, my friend never explained. Maybe he thought I was like him. But I have never been able to see a pair of boots in empty space, through the walls of boxes. He did not teach me that, although  sometimes I wonder if I did learn a little from him, about seeing spaces.

 

*

 

As each hour passed, I learned more about the little prince's planet, and his journey. No cars passed us on the road and my phone still did not work, but I did not care. Our talk fascinated me. I found my notebook and began to write down phrases, a few words of importance. The little prince was very patient with me, and would often try to peer over and see my words and drawings, though I ruffled his hair and hid them away each time.

"These boots," he asked me once. "Will they break the grass, when I tread on it?"

"They will," I said, "but grass is tough and will survive."

"What of flowers?" He said. "If I tread on a flower by accident, will they break it?"

"Yes." I replied. "Flowers are much more delicate than grasses."

He nodded sagely. "I know. They must be taken good care of. It is a matter of discipline. Each day, you must wake, and get ready for the day, and then you must also make sure your planet is ready for the day. You must regularly trim the grasses, and ensure they do not strangle the rosebushes, which both resemble each other when they are only new young sprouts." He bit his lip and gazed at the horizon. "It is tedious work, but very easy. You should draw a beautiful picture of it. It may be useful, for people who do not know."

Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came to understand your secrets, and they were not all as charming as you. For a long time your life had tightened around you so much that you found your only quiet pleasure in looking at the sunset.

"I like sunsets very much," you said, as the brightness of midday faded. "Let us see this one."

"Very well," I said. "I will wait with you for the sunset."

"Wait? For what?"

"For the sunset. We must wait until it is time."

How you laughed at yourself, little prince. "Always I am thinking I am at home!" You said, and I thought about a tiny little planet, where the setting sun may be half a world away, but that is only a few steps. A planet where you could see the sunrise and sunset as often as you liked.

"One day," you said, "I saw the sunset forty four times!"

And then:

"The sunset is a wonderful thing, when you are sad."

"Were you sad, then?" I asked. "On the day of the forty four sunsets?"

He did not answer.


	3. part two

Our sunset grew closer, and I grew more concerned. I looked once more at the engine. While I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt, the little prince asked:

"Even if the flowers have thorns?"

"What?" I said, rather sharply, for mechanics did not improve my mood.

"If the flower has thorns, like a rose, can the boots still hurt it?"

"Yes,  of course."

"Then what use are the thorns?"

At that moment, I am sad to say, I lost my temper. I am known as a quiet person, a patient person. But this is not always so.

"They are no use at all. Flowers have thorns... they have thorns just for spite!"

"Oh." Then he pursed his lips together and looked at me without wavering. "You are wrong! I don't believe you. Flowers are naive. They believe their thorns are terrible weapons... they..."

If I had been less distracted, I would have regretted intensely the reaction I had caused him. Even with my hands buried in grease and oil, I felt regret, and the need to defend myself.

"I do not know what goes on in the minds of flowers. I only said the first thing that came into my head. I am busy, don't you see? With matters of consequence."

He stopped as if he had been slapped. "Matters of consequence? No." He was both sad and angry, and truthfully shook with the emotion. "There are men I have met, they have never smelled a flower or looked at a star and all of them, they say they are busy with matters of consequence! But for thousands of years flowers have been growing thorns, that are of no use to them, and yet they put so much trouble into it, is that not important? And if I have a flower, I myself have a flower unique to my planet which is so beautiful and so proud and can be destroyed so easily, is that not important?"

He drew away from me.

"If someone loves a flower, then it makes him happy to look at the stars. He can think, somewhere there is my flower. In some place in that vast sky is my flower, blue and white on each little petal, and with dreams so large, and-"

"Shhh," I said, and took him in my arms. "Shhh. Your flower is not in danger. I will draw you a fence, a wall, I will help you protect your flower." I said other things, that I do not remember. I felt clumsy and awkward. He had gone where I could not reach him, though I wanted to desperately, and cease talking and play once more, where we understood each other.

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.

 

*

 

I came to know more of this flower. She was a delicate thing, a seed that had always been (and would always be) buried safely in the depths of his planet. But when it was time, when he was old enough, she had emerged and unfurled her petals, oh so carefully and precisely, to the sun.

"Oh!" The little prince had said, "but, you are beautiful!"

"Am I not?" she had said, with a smile in his direction, and arranged her petals yet further to her advantage, showing off their pure cloud-white and ocean-blue. "But come now, it is breakfast, will you not think of my needs?"

Abashed, he went at once in search of a watering can, filled it with fresh water, and proceeded to tend to her with much care.

Truth be told, she was sometimes a little difficult. She would speak to him with great fondness at one moment, and coldness the next, and listened perhaps too much to the gossip of the wind and unreliable blades of grass. And sometimes, she was vain.

One day, for instance, when speaking of her four thorns, she said: "Let the tigers come with their claws!"

"There are no tigers on this planet," replied the little prince.

The flower sulked. "But if there were, they could come with their claws and I would not fear them. I have a proud history."

Another time, she was feeling kinder, and said: "You remind me of a man. Yes," she added thoughtfully, "he was very great, a great champion of mine, and you remind me a little of him."

On the day that came when the little prince was to leave, to explore the mysteries of the skies that had called to him, she was quiet.

"Goodbye," he said, expecting reproachment.

"Goodbye," she said. He was uncertain. She spoke again,  voice unusually low. "Try to be happy. Of course I love you, and perhaps it is my fault you have not known it. That is of no importance. Go. Try to be happy."

"But..."

"Do not linger!" She had said, her imperious self once more. "I have my thorns. I need no one. You have decided to go, so go!"

She did not want him to see her crying. She was a proud flower.

 

*

 

I do not know how he made it to the sky. Sometimes I think he was so light he needed only to jump. Other times, I think he maybe took advantage of the migration of birds. 

Nevertheless, he found himself among asteroids, and decided to visit them.

On the first, he found a King, with robes all of red and a large red nose to match. The King greeted him immediately, as a subject. (The world is very simple for Kings, as all men are subjects.) As he was tired from his travel, the little prince started to yawn. "Do not yawn in my presence! It is forbidden!" The little prince became frightened, as he could not help it. Seeing this, the King coughed and said: "Well. You must yawn. I order you to yawn!" For what the King insisted on was obedience. He was an absolute monarch. But, because he was a very good man, he always tried to make his orders reasonable.

"Sire," said the little prince, "if I may ask, over what do you rule?" And the King, very grandly, replied that he ruled over everything. The little prince was impressed. "Then, sire, can you order a sunset?"

The King hesitated. "I can. And the sun will obey. But... it is my duty, as is theirs to obey, to order only what one can perform. And so, I order a sunset, at a time when conditions are favourable. Which will be..." he looked at his watch. "Today, at five minutes to eight."

The little prince smiled. He bid farewell to the king, who tried in vain to convince him to stay. "I will make you a Sir!" The King cried out. "It is very good, to have Sir in front of your name. I had that once, for a very long time." The little prince said he was very sorry, but had to go on.

On the second asteroid, he found a Vain Man, who greated him as an admirer. (The world is very simple for Vain Men, as all others are admirers.) "Aha!' said the Vain Man, who dressed very well and had fine distinguished grey hair, and a smirk in his smile. "How kind of you to come salute me. Now, clap your hands, one against the other."

The little prince thought this a great deal more entertaining than the King, especially when the Vain Man began to make grand speeches, and flourishing hand gestures, imploring to the sky, "why, why?" But after a while the exercise became a little monotonous, and his hands hurt, so he moved on.

On the third planet was a  Businessman. He had a large, beautiful wooden desk and a nameplate in gold. He did not notice the little prince's arrival, but continued counting. "One billion and three, one billion and four, one billion and five..."

The little prince asked him what he was counting. "The little objects," said the businessman, "that you see in the sky." The little prince thought perhaps he meant flies. "No, no, the little glittering objects." Bees, suggested the little prince. "No! Little golden objects, that make lazy men dream. I am not lazy, so I count. As Club President, and owner of all the little objects, I must count them, so I know how many I have, and how much money they make me."

"Ah," said the little prince, "you mean the stars. I have a star. I live on it, and I cut the grass and tend the flower." The Businessman did not seem to be able to think of a reply, so the little prince left him to his numbers.

On the fourth planet, which was very small indeed, the little prince found a Lamplighter, a neat little vest and pocket square. It was his duty, explained the Lamplighter, to light the lamp every day, for those were his orders, and that was the way things should be done. He ran his hand over his head and sighed. "It would be much easier," he said "if the planet would not keep changing speed. Always it changes, every time I get a new orders, which I get each year."

"Could you not get orders for many years?" asked the little prince.

"Oh no!" said the Lamplighter. "I must not get complacent! This is an important responsibility! If I signed orders for many years, why, I might lose my passion to light the way for all those who need it, and that would be terrible." The little prince smiled at him, and told him not to worry so, and continued on his way.

On the fifth planet, he met a geographer, with an aristocratic profile and puffy jacket. "Monsieur," said the little prince, "your planet is beautiful. Can you tell me about its oceans and its mountains?"

"I cannot," said the geographer. "It is true that I am a scholar of these things, but I have no explorer. I cannot go loafing about myself. But oh, I have not a single explorer on my planet." The little prince thought this very sad, so he told him of his own planet, with its grasses and its flower. The geographer listened carefully, and wrote it all down, and the little prince was glad to make him happy.

The last planet the little prince came to was Earth.

 

*

 

Now, Earth is a very large planet, much larger than the others, and on it the little prince found hundreds of Kings, and Vain Men, and Lamplighters, and Geographers. But he did not tell me of all these. It would have taken much too long. Instead, he told me of the friends he made.

He first came upon a snake, with scales of burnished gold and eyes that seemed to see right inside the heart of the little prince. "Hello," he said politely. "What planet is this, mister?"

"Hello," replied the snake. "This is Earth, little one."

"Ah." Said the little prince. "Forgive me, I thought there were people on Earth."

"There are. The Earth is very large. You have fallen in the desert, and there are no people in the desert."

"It must be lonely in the desert."

"It is lonely among men." The snake considered him, thoughtfully. "It is always lonely, in pursuit of justice. Where are you from, little one?"

"I am from a star," said the little prince. "I was having trouble with a flower."    

"Ah." Said the snake. And then, "You know, I am very powerful."

"You do not even have feet!" exclaimed the little prince, then clapped his hand over his mouth in apology. But the snake was only amused.

"Yes, but I am more powerful than any general, and can take you further than any ship or plane. One touch from me, and I send you back to where you came. Yet, you are innocent, and come from a star." He paused. "You move me to pity, so fragile in this place, which is large and hard as the rocks it is  built on. I can help you, if you grow homesick. Call out. Say, 'Xavi, I want to go home.' And I will come. I can-" He paused again, for a long time.

"Oh," said the little prince. "I understand. Yes. But why do you speak in riddles?"

"Because I solve them all," said Xavi, and left.

The little prince continued on his way. He saw many things. He saw mountains and valleys. He saw gardens, filled with different roses of different colours, all proudly swaying, but they were not his rose, so he paid them little attention.

It was then he encountered the foxes. They fought and played together, and clambered over each other, half grown pups. One was large, and had fur of golden-red. One was smaller, and had darker fur that curled oddly.

"Good morning," they cried, "good morning, good morning!" And they jumped on the little prince and made him dusty with their paws. He found himself shy in their presence. "Good morning!" They said again and again, until the larger sighed and said "I think he is mute."

"Do not be mean, Geri!" said the other, and the little prince finally stuttered a greeting. "You see! He can speak. Oh, I wish he could play with us."

"I will play with you," offered the little prince, for they were very lovely, and he liked them very much.

"No, no," said the foxes, "you cannot play with us, we are not tamed."

"What does that mean, tamed?"

"Oh!" said the foxes, "it means to establish ties. You see, you are just one boy, of many boys, and we are just foxes. We do not need you. You do not need us. But if you tame us, you will be a boy unique to us, like no other, and we to you, and we will need each other."

"Oh," said the little prince, "I think I understand. I have a flower... I think she has tamed me..."

"Please tame us," said the foxes. And then  they explained what the little prince must do. They told him he must be very patient, and come at the same time every day. That he must look at them, and say nothing. That he must come a little closer each day, and in time, perhaps bring food. And, though it seemed like a lot of trouble, the little prince did, even when the fox called Cesc would tell him off for being early, and make him go hide and come back at the right time.

And so the little prince tamed the foxes, and they spent many hours together. But then the time came that the prince had to go.

"Now we will cry," said the foxes, and true enough their eyes were full of tears.

"I am sorry!" The little prince said. "I did not know. I did not mean to make you cry. You asked me to tame you."

"Yes, that is so." They said.

"But you are going to cry! It has done you no good at all."

"It has done us good," said Gerard softly, "even though we cry. You are unique to us now. And we will give you a present."

"Yes," said Cesc, and pulled the little prince close. "Here is your present." Then he whispered, very low, "what is important is the thing that is not seen."

"What is important is the thing that is not seen," repeated the little prince tearfully, and they all hugged and parted ways.

 


	4. part three

By the time the little prince had finished telling me these tales, it had come to sunset. As the sky lit up with colours, I worried. Were my family expecting me? Were they frightened? Were they trying to call?

The little prince sensed I was not enjoying the sunset. I told him of my worries, and he nodded wisely. "Go to the top of the hill," he said, pointing, "things always make much more sense up  high." I was confused, for I remembered no hill, but it was not very large,  so I must have simply not seen it until now, with the dying light casting  great big shadows from every bump and dip in the landscape.

"Yes," I said. "I will try up there. Stay, please?"

The little prince smiled. "I came down very near here. That was a year ago. Yes. I will stay."

I was too caught up in things of no importance, of mobile phone reception and emergency road assist, to listen to him properly. I regret that. I left him the sunset, and climbed the hill. On top, I opened my phone, and to my joy I found it worked again. At once I rang my family, who were most pleased to hear from me, and arranged for them to come and find me. I told them also to set an extra place, just in case, but did not say why. Climbing down from the hill I was in a wonderful mood.

As I neared the car, I slowed. I could see him, perched on the ball like it was the most comfortable of seats, but he had his back to me. He was speaking softly to something in front of him. I heard him say:

"This is the right day, but not the right place. It is close to here."

Another voice must have answered him, for he replied:

"Yes! Yes. You must do nothing but wait for me. Yes, I am sure. It is too heavy. I cannot make it, if I try to carry it. My body is heavy."

Then:

"You promise you have good poison? I will not suffer too long?"

I froze, heart clenched in a sudden pain, but still I did not understand.

"Now go," the little prince said sweetly. "Go wait for me, Xavi. Thank you."

I saw it, then, the snake, and with a great shout I ran down, but by the time I got there it was gone.

 

*

 

"What is this," I demanded, "what were you-" but the little prince cut me off, wrapping small arms around my neck. I held him close. His heart beat frantically, like a dying bird.

"I am glad they are coming to take you home," he said. "You must have a good time." I pulled away to ask him how he knew, but he continued before I could open my mouth. "I am also going home. It is much farther. And more difficult."

"Pulguita," I said, "you are afraid."

He was afraid, I think, but he laughed at my words and looked at the ground.

"I will be more afraid tonight."

Once again I felt myself frozen by the sense of something irreparable. And I knew that I could not bear the thought that I would never be there with him dancing again, tiny as he was but the perfect partner to the ball. For me, it would be enough just to watch.

"Little one," I said, "I want to play again. Shall we play again?"

But he said to me:

"My snake and my foxes do not have names, and you taught me on earth you must have a name or you are forgotten. I do not want them to be forgotten. Will you give them names, in your notebook?"

"I will," I promised, for it seemed to comfort him.

(And I kept my promise, as you have seen, although it was not easy. As any grown-up will tell you, to bestow a name on a living thing is a great responsibility and much more difficult than it seems. I am fortunate in three dear friends, who have helped me to retell this tale, and whom each decided to lend their name to a creature who had as much need of it as they did.)

"Thank you," the little prince replied. He took his hand from mine. "I must go now, mister. It is getting dark."

I had not noticed.

"Tell me this is a bad dream." I said. "This silliness, of a meeting place, and talking with snakes, and your star. My father and my uncle are coming to pick me up. You can come home, and have dinner."

He did not answer. He said to me instead:

"The thing that is important is the thing that is not seen."

"Yes, I know- "

"Just as it is with a flower. If you love a flower, and it lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. The rest does not matter."

"Yes, I know -"

"And at night you will look up at the stars. Where I live everything is so small that I cannot show you where my star is to be found. It is better, like that. My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so all the stars will be your friends, and they will all look down and see your name on the front of your shirt and the name on the back of your shirt and they will know you and they will remember you. Besides, I will give you a present."

He held out his ball to me. I did not want to take it.

"That is my present. It is not new. It is worn. But maybe it will be as we played together."

"What are you trying to say?"

"In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be playing! And so it will be as if all the stars were playing with you, when you look at the sky at night... You — only you — will have stars that kick the ball along with you, each time."

"What are you trying to say?"

He laughed. It was a very sweet sound. "It will be as if, in place of the stars, I gave you a million tiny chances, waiting for you to find. All your friends will find it very absurd, if you tell them. They will think you are crazy. Then you might think it is such a mean trick, I have played on you."

He grew serious.

"Tonight... now. Well. You know. Do not come."

"I shall not leave you," I said.

"I'll look as if I were suffering. I'll look a little as if I were dying. It is like that. Do not come to see that. It is not worth it..."

"I shall not leave you." But he was worried.   

"Your family will come. They will come soon to find you and you will not be here. They will worry."

"I shall not leave you."

"And the snake, too- they are impetuous creatures, he might bite you just for fun- " he paused, then a thought seemed to come to him that soothed his nerves. "But they  do not have the poison for a second bite, that is true. Yes. That is true."

He started to leave, and I followed. He did not slow down or stop, but he was still worried.

"You will suffer. I'll look as if I were dead; and that will not be true..."

I said nothing.

"You understand... it is too far. I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy."

I said nothing.

"It will only be empty. An empty stadium, and a wonderful game has been played. There is nothing sad about that."

I said nothing.

"It will be very nice. And so amusing! I will have you, my friend, your name. And you will have your stars."

And he too said nothing more, because he was crying.

"Here it is. Let me go on by myself."

I do not know if I would have. But he did not go. He sat down, because he was afraid.

"My flower," he whispered, and clenched his fists. I sat next to him. I could no longer move. "I am responsible for her. She only has four thorns. She wants to take on all the worlds and she needs a champion."

He hesitated, then got up and took a step. I could no longer move.

He took another. It was just a flash of movement, by his ankle. At first it seemed like nothing. He kept moving;  slow, but not off balance, not from that. Then, later. He did not cry out. He fell as gently as a flag falls. There was not even any sound, because of the sand.

 

*

 

Ten years have gone by. I have never yet told this story. My family met me on my return to the car - they were happy to see me, they took me back to a house that was bright and warm and full of voices. I was sad, but I told them: "I am tired."

Later, my sadness was comforted a little. I know he did go back to his planet, because I did not find his body. I went back, and I looked. I know it was a very small body, but- well, I think, then perhaps it was not so heavy? That is what Cesc says, whenever we drink, whenever I speak of the little prince, which are the same. Xavi does not say anything, but he is kind and watches the stars with me. Gerard agrees with Cesc, but that is hardly a surprise, except for once, when he asked: "Do you think he still has your boots? Do you think he has grown out of them?"

At one time I say to myself, surely not, for his planet is very small, and his flower is very small,  and how could he but match them? And even so, he got on so well before, before he ever saw me, or visited this planet. There is no need to worry.

But then I think, he was very young. I do not know how young. I do not know how much more there was in him. And his planet is small, but it is not so small that he does not know how to play, and he did ask for them so insistently.  

And I have won world cups, now, yes, and I have won leagues and champions leagues and even my share of those Ballon D'ors that came at our time, when we were in our time, and there were none to match the players that came from Spain. But look up at the sky.  Somewhere, perhaps, a pair of boots no longer fits.

  
And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance.

 

 


End file.
